


it's not him

by popunkarts



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Dreams, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Marriage, Mentions of Smut, Nightmares, john shelby - Freeform, slight gore, tommy shelby mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29071605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popunkarts/pseuds/popunkarts
Summary: you have a reoccurring dream, john promises it’s not prophecy.
Relationships: John Shelby/Reader, John Shelby/You
Kudos: 4





	it's not him

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on tumblr pollyrepents.tumblr.com mwah

John sniffed deeply from the bed he had remained in after loving you, smoking his cigar and sending thick clouds of smoke into the night air, dissipating into the cool breeze brought in through the open window. He watched you closely as you returned to the room and moved back to bed, crawling over him to pull the cigar from his plump lips to press a gentle kiss against them before lying against his chest. John made quick work of pulling the blanket over the two of you, protecting your frame and his bare lower half from the cold.

He took a deep inhale, letting it flow from his mouth smoothly before clearing his throat.

“Tell me more about the dream.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your chin up to him, inspecting his face for any sign of impending elaboration. He glanced down at you before fixating on the shaking tree branch outside the window, avoiding your eyes. “The dream you told Lizzie bout. About the Cut.” You bit your lips together, looking away from his face.

“It wasn’t nothing serious, John—“

“Tell me more about the dream with the bodies and the Cut. Won’t do you good thinking about it.” Calloused fingers held your chin gently, tilting your face back to look at him.

Truthfully, the dream had stirred you from your slumber besides John more nights that not the past two weeks. Exhaustion had made itself evident on your features as time went on, only explained to Lizzie when she noticed the trembling of your hands at the mention of Tommy and John down by the Cut for an unknown reason earlier that morning.

You took a breath and slung your arm over his waist, looking out into the moonlight grass outside of your warm fortress of comfort. Your thumb ran over his freckled skin as you spoke. “I’m always standing at the edge of the Cut. Right where I could fall in if I wasn’t too careful,” You started, watching John’s hands from the corner of your vision as he pressed out his cigar into the ashtray on the bedside table. “Tommy’s telling me to look for it. There’s something I have to look for and he won’t tell me what. He makes me reach in and pull something out.” You pause, squeezing your eyes shut and recall the image of the nearly black water just below your feet.

“What’ve you pulled out, ay?” John’s hand is smoothing over your bare back, a welcomed pressure to ground you. You feel the scratch of his callouses against your smooth skin and you want to grab his hand and kiss each scar and rough edge to make sure they are his. To memorize his hands.

“Bits of you.” You muttered it, taking a breath so deep you feel your whole body expand with it. “Your army medals. Then cigars, the razor blades, your hat, your blasted gun.” You take another breath as John’s hand rubs down your back again, a firm squeeze to your side bringing you back to him. “Sometimes teeth, then fingers. They always have your rings, too. Always.”

“They have our ring?” He questioned, the words rumbling in his chest as he spoke.

You shook your head, eyes staring at his blanket covered feet. Every time you stood at the water in your dream, the fingers you pulled up were bare. Missing his silver pinkie ring he wore on his left hand, the metal cold against your knuckles whenever he held his hand in yours and tugged you into his office. It was always missing the simple wedding band your left ring fingers adorned, clicking and grinding together whenever John held your hands down in the heat of the moment, his lips pressing hot kisses against your pulse point on your neck.

“Not me then, is it?” He pressed his lips against the back of your head as he spoke. You could picture his face as you felt his chest rise with a deep inhale of you, his eyes closed and lips pressing little kisses against your hair. “No ring, ’s not fucking me.”

“It always feels like you.”

His left hand rose and gestured for yours with a soft “c’mere, then.” You complied, letting your hand drop into his much bigger one, his palms warm despite the slight chill in the room.

“Look at em.” You did, inspecting the thin gold bands on your fingers. His long fingers made the band look smaller, but it still matched the one that wrapped around your soft skin. “If that ring ain’t there, it ain’t me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was softer than before and he nudged you for proper confirmation. “Not you.”

John’s hand came up to cup your face, his thumb gently rubbing over your cheek as he repeated himself. You turned your head to look up at him through your lashes.

“That ring is the one you got to look for, doll. If it ain’t there, nothing to worry about. Some poor fucker that just got tossed in for crossing someone.”


End file.
